Seeking Samiel

by Catherine Jordan

  "I think we had the same dream," she said.

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Yes, we did."

  My dream replayed in my mind like a movie. Details were fresh, not hazy or half forgotten. There were no snakes in my dream, but I didn't bother telling her that--she was groggy. In my dream, a woman in white had wiped out an entire army simply by walking amoungst them. No one knew her, no one perceived her as a threat. She was too beautiful. And she looked exactly like Eva. I was tempted to tell Caroline my dream; it had to have meant something. But I didn't want Caroline to interpret the obvious, that I was becoming engrossed with a powerful woman.

  Caroline pulled the sheets away and scratched at her stomach. The stuff from her navel was smeared and it disgusted me. "C'mon," I coaxed, kicking the blanket away. "You need a shower." Caroline slid off the bed reluctantly.

  Leading the way to the bathroom, I flipped on the switch, and was welcomed with a working globe. Then I stepped on a pile of glitter on the floor. Glass. It slivered into my right foot, blood smearing over my toes and arch. "Ah, gads." I hopped to the sink leaving Caroline propped in the doorway. "Get me some tweezers. I think I saw a pair over there on the cabinet." I swung my foot up on the sink, examining the cut, then turned on the faucet and stuck my foot into its stream.

  "I need a doctor," she said.

  "No," I said, "It's not that bad. I don't think it'll need stitches."

  I heard the splatter before it hit me. Turning, with my foot hiked up on the sink, Caroline was hunched over with bile pooled on the yellow linoleum at her feet. Flecks of it had spattered my house trousers.

  I leaned over the counter to throw her a cloth. The leg that held my weight turned under me and I slid. Waving my arms as I fell, my wet hand slapped the sink for something to grab and my shoulder bore the impact when I hit the floor.

  I winced at the sharp pain traveling up my neck. I groaned and rolled onto my back, eyes squeezed tight, legs up in the air against the cabinet. "I can't get up," I said, feeling like a helpless turtle. "One of us is going to have to call for help."

  Caroline, her skin waxy, deathly-grey, crawled towards me, hair snaking through the slime, palms smearing like a dirty mop. She slapped my shoulder with her wet hand and pressed hard. I saw stars behind closed eyes, and passed out from the pain.

  13

  I awoke on the bathroom floor, legs outstretched, foot bandaged, arm stabilized in hard plastic secured with blue Velcro. Voices spoke from behind. Paramedics in their crisp, blue shirts spoke with Caroline's mother. Lindsey's voice filtered in through the bedroom.

  The bathroom had been cleaned and dried. No blood, no vomit. No Caroline. "Hello," I called. Footsteps followed. A dark-skinned police officer entered first. It was him.

  "You are awake," he said, looking down at me from the doorway.

  Lindsey came in behind. "What happened here last night?" she asked. I didn't have a chance to answer; one of the paramedics stepped in front of her. "Excuse me," he said, leaning over me, and he reached into his bag. Thermometer, stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, all quietly administered.

  I spotted Tatwaba's bright purple headdress in back of the bedroom. Silent, as usual. The housekeeper's heavy isiZulu accent frustrated me and since she was also Caroline's spiritual guru, I usually left Caroline to deal her. The few years spent in South Africa weren't enough for me to pick up the dialects of the African language pool, not that I had tried since most people around The Cape spoke English.

  The paramedics packed their equipment. "No heavy lifting," the one said, helping me to my feet before he and his partner left.

  "Your housekeeper arrived early," the officer said, watching me. "She called after she found you two. I have some questions for you, Mr. Thurmont."

  I explained Caroline's room, the bathroom, and my injuries as best I could. Her sickness? "We went to a party. She was fine."

  "No, she wasn't," Lindsey said, shaking her head, her gold earrings flipping in and out of her chin-length bob. "Why didn't you call me?" she asked.

  To the officer, I said, "We just came home from a party. I thought she ate something bad." Lindsey stomped out of the bathroom and I rolled my eyes. After what Edward had said to me last night I knew she'd blame me; that was why Caroline had agreed not to call her mother when we got home.

  "Tell me about your party," the officer said, blocking my view of the bedroom.

  I casually mentioned my reason for having been there, the good time I thought we had before Caroline threw up. I skipped the drama and said nothing about Eva or Edward.

  "Anything you want to add?" he asked.

  What else did the officer know? Did Edward come home or stay the night at Eva's? "Did Caroline tell you her side?"

  The officer shook his head.

  "I'd like to see her," I said, hobbling forwards.

  Caroline lay sleeping under her covers. Tatwaba had cleaned the room, righting just about everything. She balanced a large laundry load on her ample hip. Caroline's red dress peeked from the pile. "Is my tux there, too?" I asked.

  Tatwaba nodded.

  "She's getting rid of those things," Lindsey said, wrinkling her nose. "She tried washing them. What is that smell?"

  "De Lamia," said Tatwaba.

  Lindsey looked from Tatwaba to me. I had no idea what Lamia meant. I never knew half of what that woman ever said.

  Tatwaba repeated herself, "De Lamia. Dat woman is Lamia-- uSathane, de devil."

  Lindsey's lips silently repeated what Tatwaba had said. "Where were you last night?" Lindsey asked me. "Whose party were you at?"

  I had to tell her the truth. Edward was bound to say something, and so was Caroline, eventually. And wasn't Caroline old enough to go see her own sister, especially when her father was there, too? "We went to Eva's book signing," I said.

  Lindsey stiffened and the officer crossed his arms. Their glares of horror had me feeling guiltier than I thought I should be. "Why?" I asked. Tatwaba reproached me with that look on her face.

  "The Lamia," the officer said, "is a poem. John Keats."

  "Tatwaba isn't talking about poetry," Lindsey snapped. The officer's tough exterior tumbled under Lindsey's admonishment. "Jeffrey, have you met Officer Nkumbi?"

  "You know each other?" I asked.

  "We just met," Lindsey said, "but he's known Eva for awhile."

  "I know of her," the officer corrected.

  "Most people around here do," Lindsey said.

  Lamia? Lamia? I had heard of Lamia in university. I envisioned the mythological Lamia described in Keats poem-- half woman, half serpent. A demon. I didn't realize I had laughed until Lindsey scowled at me.

  "Do you believe in Santa Claus?" Nkumbi asked me. "No, you do not. There is no Santa Claus. Saint Nicholas, the man whom the myth is built upon, is real. Eva, the woman whom the Lamia's myths are built upon, is also real."

  "You take Tatwaba's nonsense seriously?" I asked.

  "No one believes she's really the Lamia," Lindsey said. Nkumbi raised his forehead and shifted his shoulders. "Except the Sangomas and the people from the villages. Tatwaba."

  "But Eva's your step-daughter," I said.

  "I have learned not to dismiss anything," Nkumbi said.

  Certainly Edward would not condone this attitude about one of his daughters, and I doubted they'd be saying these things about her if he were here. He must've stayed the night at the mansion and might not have told her. I wanted to be careful with what I said--didn't want to get in the middle or add to any family rivalry. "Eva was my father's client. I attended that party in his place. Caroline came along to get her book signed."

  And if she hadn't come along, things might've worked out for the better. If Caroline had not been in the way. Maybe you and Eva would have had a better conversation.

  That voice again. Those thoughts; damn them. I closed my eyes to squeeze them from my head. Where were they coming from? I loved Caroline. She was not in the way.

  Lindsey shook her
head and the earrings pulled on her lobes. Her flamboyancy had never bothered me before, but for some reason, her bold jewelry, makeup, and expensive looking clothes wore on my nerves. Why do that, announcing to others what you have and they don't? Eva's dress had been simple, I reminded myself as I reflected on her lack of jewelry, and by my estimate she was rich enough to buy this entire continent.

  "She may call herself a parapsychologist, but she's not. She's an occultist," Lindsey spat the accusation in the air, "A Satanist."

  "No good," Tatwaba said, then left the room.

  "Neither is your car," said the officer. "I just checked it out."

  Not waiting for an explanation, I limped out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the garage.

  14

  I circled the car and opened the dented passenger door. It replied with a groan. I reeled backwards from the stench and pushed the car door closed.

  "Want to tell me about that dog?" Nkumbi asked.

  Flabbergasted, I said, "It was in the middle of the road." I continued to survey the damage. "It jumped on our car."

  The roof was collapsed into the front seats and the front tires were lifted off the floor. It looked like a giant hand had crushed my car in one squeeze. Headlights, windshield, door windows, all shattered. We couldn't have crawled out of that alive. "No, this wasn't . . ."

  "What kind of dog?" asked Nkumbi.

  "A lion dog," I answered.

  "Rhodesian Ridgeback? They are not easily provoked. Did you hit it?"

  "No. Well, I bumped it because it wouldn't move," I said.

  "A dog could not do that. Not even a Ridgeback."

  "I couldn't have driven this home," I said, pointing at the car like it was from outer space.

  "It does not look like the damage was done here," said Nkumbi, hands in pocket, same straight face. "I am familiar with this Miss Eva. I can only say that you would be better off if you stayed away from her property, especially at night. That dog? I would take it as a warning."

  As Nkumbi walked to his car parked at the curb, he called over his shoulder, "Lindsey will call me when Caroline wakes. It is good that your housekeeper called an ambulance. Too many of these locals call a witch doctor--the Sangomas--before a medical doctor."

  "In this country I hear you can get better results with a Sangoma," I said.

  Nkumbi stopped and then walked back to me. "Keep her away from them. The witch doctors will only make it worse. They do not know medicine. We have good hospitals here."

  "I wasn't serious," I said.

  He's a police officer, warned the voice. He is paid to be defensive.

  "Your accent; it is English," said the officer. "How long have you lived in this country?"

  Long enough, I wanted to answer. I wanted to brag about what else I knew: that South Africa is the world's largest exporter of gold and has Africa's largest economy. That South Africa has a country, The Kingdom of Lesotho, within its country. That South Africa has three capitals: Cape Town, Bloemfontein, and Pretoria, and a population of over forty five million. I wanted to tell him that the population groups include both African people and Europeans, with more than three-quarters being black. The whites are the wealthiest, and that fact continues to be a sore subject. South Africa has five official languages, and the only one I speak is English. Last, and most significant to my father, was the fact that the subtropical coastline is coveted by tourists and the wealthy, and that is why he established his law firm in Cape Town.

  "Three years," was all I said.

  "Mm. In this country, about eighty percent of the blacks rely on Sangomas, not western medicine. In this country, people believe in magik--juju. Not medical doctors."

  "Of course," I said, and wanted to add, I knew that. Both Caroline and Tatwaba had visited the Sangomas more than once, but not for medical attention. They bought good luck charms to attract money and ward against the evil eye. Pretty gross stuff, those charms. Nothing charming about dried chicken legs and shrunken heads. "Those people are poor, ignorant. They can't afford good doctors, so they go to where their ancestors have gone--the witch doctors."

  Nkumbi raised his brows. "Your money?" Nkumbi asked, referring to last night, "It smelled like your car. Spends the same though, yes? I gave it to the slims in the Shanty."

  I was surprised to see compassion in the officer's face; he was showing a human side that I had assumed did not exist amoungst the police force. I considered thanking him, maybe even shaking hands. Then I angered thinking about the large sum of money that had just been thrown away. It was the last of my savings cashed out on a now overdrawn account. That money would buy little medicine for the AIDS victims--the slims living in the Shantytowns outside of Cape Town. In my opinion it would just prolong the inevitable.

  "Not all of us take bribes," said Nkumbi. He got in his car and drove away.

  I headed back inside after giving my car one last stupefied look.

  15

  I used the banister to pull myself up the steps, remembering how I had flown up them last night. I wore the same house trousers with dried blood crusted on the bottom hem. My shirt was stained on the sleeve above my wrapped arm. A shower would feel good.

  "Tatwaba isn't as ignorant as you think," Lindsey said as I entered the bedroom. She tucked a heavier blanket around Caroline. "I knew your father had some high profile clients. I should've spoken up sooner. There are rumours surrounding Eva."

  "I don't care to hear any more rubbish," I said. "Tatwaba should go home--she's been blowing smoke up Caroline's rear end. And yours."

  "Oh, really?" Lindsey grabbed her purse from the side table. "If you had the nerve to ask around, and I don't recommend that you do, you'd hear enough about Eva to make your skin crawl. Ask Edward," she said, as if daring me. "He didn't come home last night." After an awkward silence passed between us, she said, "I'm going home to see if he's there. I'll be back in a little while, but Tatwaba will stay." Lindsey lowered her head, earrings swaying back and forth. "Why don't you go home?"

  Why? Because my home was no longer with my father--that house had been seized. My flat was cold and filled with things I'd have to start selling off just to eat. Stocks? Investments? Father wiped it all out. He owned the firm and so no one had questioned him, no one had been suspicious. Not even me. For generations my family had owned an estate in London, now on the market. Caroline, who never thought that far into the future, couldn't grasp the real risk of bankruptcy. Her life had run smoothly with complete lack of disorder or concern.

  My thoughts drifted to a wealthy uncle, my father's brother, living in a rectory in Kensington. I had posted him good wishes, rang him every year on his birthday. Ol' chap didn't have children; he was a retired priest. If the ol' man passed soon, if he left a will with Jeffy boy in mind, then maybe . . .

  Caroline had put her faith in me and I hated to see her lose it. I had witnessed what loss would do to a woman; my mother had been its victim. I told Caroline she died in a car accident--sad, but not as pathetic as the truth. I didn't put faith in people; mine came from Cambridge and was framed on the wall in my office. And I hoped that faith would bring me income within a few weeks; I'd been visiting clients, assuring them.

  "All right if I stay and keep her company?" I asked.

  Lindsey dug her keys from her purse. "Had I known you two were going there, I would've thrown myself at your feet to stop you." There. She said it with utter vehemence.

  I shot a glance at the chair by Caroline's bed. My leg hurt and if I were going to spend any time chatting with Lindsey, I would do it sitting down. Limping towards the chair, I said, "Look, my father had been her solicitor for years, before I ever met Caroline. He never complained about her, or said weird things were going on."

  "Your father has disappeared," Lindsey said. "That says enough. You should have nothing more to do with Eva or any of her friends. Fiends, is more like it."

  "Fiends?" I asked. Lindsey, like her daughter, tended to over-dramatize relationships, whether good
or bad.

  "Have you seen any of the people who visit her?" I nodded slightly. "Did you notice anything unusual about them?"

  "They all have tattoos," I said. "And they might have been on drugs."

  "Not drugs. I think they're under a hypnotic daze," she said. "The ones that keep any contact with her are marked with tattoos."

  My mind went back to the party. "I saw some of the guests, the ones that were tattooed, bow as they greeted her. And when I said Jesus' name, they bowed again. I wonder . . . Edward said not to say 'his' name ever again."

  Lindsey's eyes widened. "Edward? Was he there, too?"

  I sighed and looked sheepishly away. "Yes, he was." I felt obliged to defend him, for Caroline's sake, and so I said, "He told us to go home. He was angry with Caroline for being there. He had told her not to go."

  "For good reasons, too. Why didn't he come back with you?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure," I said.

  "Well. I wonder where he went." I couldn't tell if she was angry or concerned. She asked, "They bowed to Eva and then to Jesus' name?"

  "Then they hissed," I said. "Like I had made them mad."

  "That's something I'm not familiar with," she said.

  "Maybe I'm wrong," I said, dismissing what I'd said with a laugh.

  "I'm not saying you're wrong. I've never even seen Eva, so I've never seen anyone bow to her. I have met her grandfather." She spoke quickly. "Nasty old man. He was also a Representative from Lesotho. The men in that family are rooted in politics. And lies. Her grandfather was a pedophile." Lindsey paced, eyes on the floor as she talked. "I knew one of the boys' mothers. Three year old boy." Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't imagine," she whispered. "The mother told me her son wasn't the only one. She went to the police. They didn't charge him; he had government protection, immunity. He never went to jail. Just up and disappeared."

  Lindsey stopped pacing and looked me right in the eyes. "Now, I've seen some of the company she keeps. Odd, but very, very rich people. They've got their greedy little hands in everything."

  She began to pace again. "We hosted a party at my house once, for Edward. Edward arrived with the normal people. Eva remained at her home--sick, Edward said. As the night went on, a few strangers, looking drugged out, wandered inside. They roamed the house like little inspectors, touching things. They kept to themselves, cozying up to Edward once in a while. They had tattoos, all of them, of snakes, patterns, triangles, odd shapes."